The Replacements
by ghost-writer-88
Summary: When a new Prime ascends it is tradition for him to replace the entire command staff. Optimus is ignorant of this and it is Prowl's duty to enlighten him. Doing so is going to reveal more than the Praxian wishes.
1. Chapter 1: All Hail the New Prime

The Replacement

Verse: Pre-earth G1 AU

Rating: M for triggery references. Seriously.

Warnings: WILL contain semi-graphic mentions of past physical abuse, rape, torture, etc. If any of these are trigger topics or squicks, I would advise turning back now. This is a prequel to S.A.F. but it is not necessary to read to understand that story except to add depth to certain characters. I'm serious, I do not want any flames for not having warned you, so BE WARNED.

So, this story started out as a sorta humorous friendship plot bunny, but that bunny decided to go off and have a one-night-stand with a crack bunny. The resulting bunny wanted an off-the-wall variation of the original story. So I wrote it. However, before I could post it, the friendship/crack bunny decided to accept courtship from a dark-fic bunny. They insisted that I change the fic to suit their whims or they would not give me anymore material to work with, my muse sided with them. The end result was a story that starts innocent, dives straight into the dark, comes back up for some crack, and then goes for an odd medium of friendship with a side of darkishness.

* * *

Chapter 1:

It was tradition when a new Prime ascended that he replace the entire command staff of his predecessor. It was done for a number of reasons: First, it prevented power struggles between entrenched officers and those who desired more power; second, it kept the new Prime's policies and personal habits from being compared to 'The Old Way'; and lastly, it removed any potentially corrupt members from having any further detrimental effects on the governing of Cybertron.

However, such a process was not expected to occur over a single dark-cycle. The old officers were typically kept around for a few decacycles to ensure a smooth transition and to give initial training to their replacements if needed.

The newest Prime however, having been a lowly dock worker and therefore unaware of the tradition, had not done this. This was the conclusion that Prowl finally came to after much processor-wracking deliberation. The Prime simply did not know what was expected of him and as the former Second it was Prowl's duty to rectify that lack of knowledge. It needed to be done quickly too, the rest of the officers were becoming jittery with every passing orn that did not bring news of replacements.

When Prowl entered Optimus Prime's office he appeared stoic, calm, every bit the emotionless tactician the common soldiers believed him to be, but on the inside he was a mess of trepidation and nervousness. Sentinel Prime had always made it pointedly clear that no one was to question his orders. Ever. Period. And even though Optimus Prime had yet to issue any orders, it still felt like the few times that Prowl had dared to even comment on one of Sentinel Prime's decisions.

The Praxian was unsure of what reaction he would garner. Would he be received well, an uncharacteristic happenstance, but still hoped for; or would he be treated to a verbal dressing down like when Sentinel Prime was irritated; or would the new Prime share in his predecessor's anger at being questioned and give the SIC a reintroduction to the physical punishments that Sentinel Prime loved to bestow when he felt Prowl was being insubordinate.

The punishments tended to vary by the former Prime's level of wrath. Mild upset simply got Prowl a few hard pinches on the tips of his sensitive doorwings with one or both being nearly dislocated by the brutal handling, but never in a way that would show on the outside. Midlevel anger meant that the black and white would be chained to the office wall by his front and Sentinel Prime would take an electroprod to his internal's, again, there would be no signs of abuse on his exterior. The worst punishment could be derived in one of two ways, either by outright angering the blue and gold Prime, which Prowl had not done since his early days as SIC, or by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The latter occurred often after a visit to the Council Chamber when one of Sentinel Prime's proposals was denied, thus arousing his ire. The former Prime would storm back to his quarters with his hapless SIC in tow. Once there, he would strap the Praxian to the berth and use him until his rage was sated. Prowl would be left covered in dents, scratches, scrapes, gouges, and various other wounds, not to mention an erratic and misfiring spark-pulse from the nonconsensual actions. However, he was always repaired by the Prime's personal physician before being permitted to leave, and the doctor was sworn to secrecy on pain of being declared a traitor.

It was for these reasons that Prowl felt neither regret nor sadness when the blue and gold Prime was assassinated. However, a Prime was chosen by the Matrix for their characteristics, which meant that it had condoned Sentinel Prime's behavior and logically would have selected a successor with a similar personality.

For a moment Prowl considered letting the new Prime function in ignorance and remaining mute on the traditions. The thought of finally being free though, was so tantalizing that the black and white was willing to endure the prospect of one more round of abuse.

* * *

Optimus Prime sat at his desk feeling dwarfed by the stately trappings and regal adornments that represented the achievements of the former Primes. The icons and decorations gave the office an almost hallowed air and it made the newest occupant feel sacrilegious for daring to aspire to his precursors' accomplishments. He had no clue what possessed the Matrix to think choosing him would be a good idea. Orion had been a rough, course-mouthed dockworker who knew nothing about how to go about running a planet. The sheer magnitude of the task before was almost enough to fritz his processor (he had actually crashed in shock when Alpha Trion first told him the news, had scared the old mech into thinking he had performed the reformatting incorrectly), and made him want to hide very far away where no one could find him. The Matrix kept whispering that it would help if only Optimus would let it, but Optimus had had enough of the relic's 'help' to last him for quite a long time. He had been naïve enough to accept it's aid after Megatron had destroyed the warehouse and look where it had gotten him, a farce of a Prime likely to ruin his own planet with his ineptitude. Matters were also not helped by the fact that the command staff seemed to be afraid of him and extremely unwilling to give him any advise whatsoever. Even the SIC, whose emotionlessness and stoicism had been touted far and wide, would subconsciously twitch his doorwings down as if to protect them.

The distraught young Prime was broken from his lament by an entry-request ping. He sent an acceptance signal to the door and the Praxian SIC entered the room. Optimus could see by the faint twitch in the left doorwing that Prowl was ill at ease. Optimus tried to smile reassuringly at the mech only to remember that the Praxian could not see it thanks to the blasted irremovable battle mask Alpha Trion had fitted him with. To cover his blunder he politely asked Prowl to be seated while trying to put as much friendly emotion into his optics as he could. As soon as the doorwinger was comfortable Optimus asked what he could do for the SIC.

* * *

Prowl was barely holding himself together, and when he received a harsh glare from the Prime ust after his entry, it was all the doorwinger could do to keep from turning tailfins. It was too late to retreat however, as the Prime had already ordered him to sit. Thankfully, the large mech had stopped glaring, but now he was practically leering with bright, eager optics. If Prowl were a less controlled mech he would have been quaking where he sat. Now firmly resigned to the fact that this Prime would be just like his predecessor, the Praxian hesitantly dug his own smelter pit by explaining the neglect of traditional protocol.

Prowl was shocked when the Prime not only accepted the news, but seemed very pleased to be reprimanded, albeit gently, by his subordinate.

* * *

Optimus was ecstatic. Finally! He had something useful he could do! He was also joyful that the stoic mech seemed to be warming up to him enough to share his thoughts on proper procedure.

After thanking Prowl profusely for bringing the matter to his attention, he excused the smaller mech and immediately called a full staff meeting for that very evening.


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome to the World of Angst

And I bring you a new update. I ran into another mental roadblock with SAF so this got some head time and voila, a new chapter.

Suprisingly this story is near impossible to write at the same time as my other stories. Why? Because most of my other fiction is written from an omnipotent, omnipresent outsider POV while this story is written from the characters' POV and for some reason I have trouble switching from one writing style to the other quickly.

Warnings for this chapter: nothing graphic, but there is still hints of past trauma. The warning from last chapter still stands and if any of those are your squicks, DO NOT READ!

As always, this is unbeta-ed, so please rate, review, and point out my errors. Enjoy!

*_thoughts_*

A Line - indicates a scene change

*V*V*V* indicates a POV change

A/N: I have made some fixes to the formatting (FF keeps eating it!) and it should be a smoother read now.

* * *

Chapter 2:

When Optimus entered the Grand Chamber of Meeting, the formal audience chamber for the Primes and the only room large enough to host the entire command complement, he noted a singular peculiarity. Nearly three-quarters of the mechs wore ill-concealed looks of fear, *_Pit, they look more nervous than me,_* the rest appeared to be bored. He had to dismiss the rising questions as to the cause of the disharmony; there would be time to ponder _that_ later. For now he had a meeting to convene.

His shock and confusion only increased though, as boredom changed to disbelief when he apologized for his blunder and fear melted into relief at his announcement that the tradition would be upheld.

His closing statement though, seemed to stun everyone, "-All I ask if you should decide to retire is that you pick a replacement that possesses at least comparable talent and skill potential to your own. I thank you all for your vorns of dedicated service and pray that your functionings be eternally blessed for your contributions."

He stepped down from the podium so Prowl could end the meeting and he took the opportunity to observe the crowd one last time. Many of the formerly bored mecha looked disappointed while the rest of that category looked angry, but the once fearful mecha now bore looks of nervous hope. With such a mixed reaction, Optimusfound himself suddenly unsure if had made the right choice. However, Prowl had been certain of this, so he chose to trust his Second.

* * *

Prowl strode purposefully down the hall towards the Prime's office. His confidence was buoyed up by the lifting of the oppression that once imprisoned him. His thoughts bordered on happy as was attested to by his doorwings' occasional flutters. This would be the first step to his freedom and he could not contain his elation at the feeling it elicited.

When the doorwinger reached the office he stopped for a moment to compose himself, it would not do to upset the new Prime when the Praxian was so close to finally escaping.

*V*V*V*

The doorchime was ringing again, but Optimus did not want to open the door. Nearly seventy percent of High Command had been through to tender their resignations and half of those had replacements already lined up for training. The massive red and blue just sat staring at the stacks of datapads feeling like Cybertron's biggest failure. A comm ping finally pierced his despondent veil of self-pity. It was Prowl, he was asking if the Prime were well and if not should the Praxian alert the head physician? Optimus sighed as assured his Second that he was fine, then realized that the mech was so concerned because he had been standing outside the office door without answer for nearly ten kliks.

The Iaconian quickly arranged himself in a more dignified pose, then hit the release button. The proud doorwinger entered, a slight questioning look on his faceplates. Optimus deliberated with himself for a moment on whether to share his misgivings with Prowl. He was afraid of disillusioning the Praxian, but then he remembered that Prowl had been very close to Sentinel so he should be well acquainted with a Prime having doubts about something.

"Prowl, would it be amenable if I took a few kliks of your time to discuss something?"

The white and black almost stumbled, caught off guard by the request *_Was it that odd a question?_*. Optimus motioned to a chair and Prowl sat abruptly. *_Maybe the stories were wrong? He certainly doesn't act like he was used to being in the confidence of a Prime._* the blue and red decided to ignore his growing uncertainty and forged ahead to ask his question. "Am I a disappointing leader?"

In any other situation Optimus might have laughed, Prowl looked completely flabbergasted, but after a tiny flicker of an unidentifiable emotion that almost looked like fear, the SIC settled himself back into his customary stoic visage. "Lord Prime, your reign has not lasted long enough for any true assessment to be rendered upon your quality, but thus far you have most certainly not been a disappointment."

While Optimus was vastly relieved, the answer truly only served to heighten his previous confusion. "Then why are so many mecha retiring? I could understand if it was just the older mecha who have served for centivorns, but I have an entire stack right here of mecha who have served in Command for less than ten vorn yet still intend to retire! The only logical conclusion I have been able to come to is that they are fleeing me!"

Optimus noticed a quick flash of guilt sweep across the Praxian's faceplates at the desperate declaration and saw his Second try to covertly stuff something into his subspace. Understanding came to the Iaconian like a knife to the spark, no this was not _his_ Second, not anymore. "Prowl, give me the datapad."

*V*V*V*

With much trepidation Prowl handed over his notice of retirement, terrified that any sign of noncompliance at this point would result in a beating. A small part of him was surprised that the Prime was sticking to verbal rants and not going directly for a physical release for his anger.

As the Prime read the datapad Prowl tried to explain, in hopes of being spared a more severe punishment. "Lord Prime, the… the tradition dictates that _all_ Command staff must retire regardless of the amount of time served."

The Prime stared at him with an inscrutable expression, "It is ok Prowl,… I,… I understand."

Prowl quailed in seat at the massive mech's quiet answer, sure that he had only further incensed the red and blue.

*V*V*V*

The Praxian was flicking his wings down again and it was starting to worry Optimus. The SIC had sheltered his doorwings as he handed over the incriminating pad and had just repeated the maneuver in response to Optimus' attempt at reassurance. While the Iaconian knew that Prowl was not lying to him, the convoy class mech wondered if there was some secondary reason that was making the officers cling to the tradition like it was a functioning saver.

The brisk stride that Prowl adopted, for him it could probably be classified as scrambling, to get out of the grandiose office after being gently dismissed cemented Optimus' resolve. It was time to get some real answers to this strange atmosphere that pervaded every aspect of High Command.

The blue and red sent out a general notice that he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency, and left his office for the meditation room adjacent to his personal quarters.

* * *

The corridors seemed to stretch on forever and Prowl was terrified that he would be recalled to face punishment at any moment. His office, his sanctuary, appeared just around the next corner and the Praxian quickened his step to reach the protection of that sanctum.

After locking himself inside he finally released the stranglehold he held over his more overt emotional responses. His plating began to clatter noisily against his frame and his doorwings were quivering so badly that they ressembled the wings of an organic insect in flight. As the multitude of emotions rushed through him, Prowl found that he no longer possessed the strength to stand and fell gracelessly to his knee with a sob.

It was during moments like these that he missed his trinemate the most and wished the mech could be here to soothe his frightened spark. However, he had been forced to send Smokescreen away to protect him from the Prime's taint and if he ever wanted to see him again he would have to gather his courage to stay the course for just a little longer.

Only a few more decacycles and he would be free.

When his panic attack subsided Prowl wearily pulled himself up into his desk chair and arranged himself to greet the first replacement candidate. The mech would be arriving any klik now and the Praxian wanted to present a professional air.

Right on time the doorchime signaled the presence of the aspirant. The SIC opened his door for the mech, examining him intently as he stepped inside. The candidate, designation Prismacolor, was a dark green and silver ground-based mech from Altihex and sported the characteristic 'mood' panels on either side of his helm. He was young, being less than five thousand vorn old, but he came with such glowing referenced from the Archival Department that Prowl felt he would at least be worth a trial run.


	3. Chapter 3: Revelations

Hey, I'm back with another chapter.

Warnings: this one get a little on the graphic side people, so be warned. The warnings from the first chapter definitely apply in this one.

That being said, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3:

Black plating splashed with brilliant glowing blue; white plating scored to reveal tender protoform. Gorgeous. The stoic visage had long since yielded to the passion that hid underneath. Beautiful. The energon soaked mech was a sight to behold and it sent a thrill of arousal straight to his spark. How lucky was he to have discovered a mech who loved to be dominated so.

Even so, he knew that there were times when their lovemaking was too intense for even his gem of a lover. If only the council would listen! Those lazy fraggers were too immersed in their decadence and their hard-helmed attachment to talk rather than decisive action drove him past all reason. His beloved was so wonderful, allowing him to work out his frustrations in ever more passionate love. The delightful mech would actually pretend to be unwilling to increase the visceral satisfaction they both received from this, and now it was time for the next step in their role-play.

Optimus looked down, in his servos lay a spark-chamber override wand.

His horror finally stirred him from the first-person viewpoint of the memory, but even though it was no longer he that participated Optimus was still forced to watch as a massive blue mech raped a smaller black and white Praxian.

Prowl!

The tortured mech was his own second!

The begging screams that issued from the once proud doorwinger shook the blue and red Iaconian down to his core and the young Prime cried out in protest. *_What is this?! Why am I being shown this?! Stop it! I do not want to see anymore!*_

_But you must. You must understand the transgressions of your predecessor if you are to make restitution._

_*What? Who are you? What are you talking about?* _Optimus felt a warm gentle presence surround him and the awful vision faded. The comforting presence was all-suffusing and Optimus knew it was the consciousness of the Matrix.

_I will not show you more of this event, but there is much that you need to know. Sentinel Priima has caused much damage to many mecha and their great expertise will be lost to you unless healing can be wrought. If you lose them neither you nor the Autobots will survive what is coming._

The Iaconian's spark quivered in dread, but the Great Artifact consumed him with a silent promise that it would stay with him throughout the ordeal. Comforted he replied. *_O-ok, I w-will watch.*_

With the soothing aura of the Matrix giving him strength he bravely watched as many more memories were played out before him. Every type of torture and abuse Sentinel ha ever inflicted upon Prowl; all the verbal haranguing the blue mech had delivered to his staff; the degrading treatment of his subordinates. All of it was subject to Optimus' viewing. When it was all over the red and blue was sobbing, his spark quailing in distress. The Great Artifact waited, giving the young spark its warmth until his anguish abated. *_He did all of this?*_

_And more. But showing you the remainder would serve no purpose right now as most of the victims not shown have either joined the Decepticons or have already become One in the Well._

_*Oh. Can I even fix this? Is it even within my power to do anything?*_

_I would not have shown you if you could not._

_*Then tell me what I must do.*_

And as the Matrix explained Optimus could feel its approving smile.

*.*.*.*

Pink. His datapad was pink. Of course this was only the tip of the morass, but Prowl valiantly attempted to concentrate on the data rather than the bizarre, processor-freezing rainbow that occupied his desk. The Praxian was beginning to think that those _glowing_ references had been a last ditch effort to palm off the over-enthusiastic, color obsessed mech now sitting quietly in the antechamber of the office. Prowl surmised that the head Archivists were probably patting themselves on the back right about now for a con-job well played. Well, they would get theirs, he would see to that.

For now however, he was stuck with trying to ignore the reality that his desk looked like someone had purged on it. Every datapad was color-coded according to urgency, department of origin, and whether or not the final mock-up would need a Prime signature. This level of organization was excellent, but the little Altihexian had chosen to only use colors in the _Pink_ spectrum. Puce, magenta, amaranth, champagne, carnation, mauve, pastel, ruby, maroon, burgundy, scarlet, byzantium, violet, and plum had all found representation in his multihued datapads. The fact that he was now aware of the precise names of these optic-searing shades of what passed for color was horrifying. His potentiate had spent a joor explaining the new sorting system and the information was practically permanently engraved in his memory banks.

It would take a full orn and five near meltdowns over Prowl using 'the wrong color datapad' for his work before the doorwinger would come to a very important decision. Prismacolor had to go.

*.*.*.*

He brought them in one at a time into his office. An overwhelmingly ornate office that conveyed even less comfort than before his meditation with the Matrix. The called individual would sit before his desk and await his judgment. They would all flinch minutely when he addressed them and it gave him unending sorrow that they believed that he would abuse them too. It made Optimus want to cry.

He spent joors explaining to them his distress over their prior treatment and then consoling them as they finally broke. He begged each of them to reconsider their resignations, to give him a chance to prove how a Prime truly deported himself. Most left his office still in tears, but promising to consider his request. He also explicitly assured them it _was_ a _request_ and not an order.

It would take nearly a decaorn to see to them all, the victims of Sentinel Prime's madness, and when he was finished only one would be left. Prowl.

Prowl, whose suffering had been the most severe, would require a special touch if healing were to take place.

*.*.*.*

Prismacolor was gone and Prowl rejoiced. He had tactfully explained to the green and silver that the current arrangement was not working. The Altihexian had been crushed, but swiftly perked up when the doorwinger told him he would not be returning to Archives. Instead, Prowl, being the economical mech that he was, had gotten Prismacolor assigned to Requisitions where he could color-code to his spark's content and have his efforts actually appreciated.

The overjoyed mech had leapt up, head panels flashing bright blue, hugged Prowl, and rushed of to his dream job.

In return for Prismacolor the Requisitions Office was sending his a mech that had been serving as the office's temporary secretary. Supposedly, the mech, a purple and blue Urayan, was very good at his job and Requisitions felt he deserved advancement.

Dissever would arrive in the morning.

*.*.*.*

Optimus trudged down the corridor after his first orn of apologies and restitution. It was harrowing work, but the young Prime felt duty and honor-bound to see it done. Still, it was exhausting work and he was headed straight to his berth for some much needed recharge. As he passed the door to his meditation chamber he felt a slight pull. Stopping, puzzled he looked around. Seeing nothing that might have triggered the strange sensation he tried to move on, but the pull came again. He turned towards the room of reflection and the pull called him forward. Yielding, he entered.

A few moments later, after seating himself and calming his spark to listen, Optimus found himself wrapped in the comforting embrace of the Great Artifact.

_You are troubled._

The accepting, nonjudgmental tone of the Matrix was the last crack in the Iaconian's serene façade. He let go and cried like he had so desired earlier when he had seen his people's reaction to him.

_*Sentinel has done so much! There is too much hurt! How can I fix it all?! I cannot withstand!*_

_You will young one. I will be there to give you strength and wisdom. It is my function. You can do this, trust me._

_*I will try.*_

The Matrix held him until peace had returned to his spark and resolve renewed. Then it spoke again. _You have questions._

The young Prime's spark flared in an approximation of an embarrassed blush. *_If it is not too much trouble?*_

_Never youngling. I function to store and provide information. Now, what is it that burns in your spark?_

_*Earlier, when you spoke of Sentinel, you called him Priima. What does that mean?*_

The Matrix was silent.

* * *

Ok, for all that might think that Optimus is being a little too OOC. I am portraying him as he would be just after ascending, so still in his Orion Pax mentality. He will eventually mature into the OP that we all know and love but for now he is still a barely mature mechling in an adult body.


	4. Chapter 4: Where We Came From

And here is where I thoroughly mangle Cybertronian history to make it suit my own tastes.

Enjoy, review, and correct mistakes.

* * *

Chapter 4:

The Great Artifact was silent for a long moment and just when Optimus was about to retract his query, it answered.

_When Primus first took his planetary form and began to split his spark to create the Cybertronian precursors, he recognized that his children would need a leader. He wanted that leader to have direct access to his processor so that he could monitor his children and provide his own wisdom and insight to the chosen one. Thus the Oracle Computer was devised. It worked moderately well for the first few Primes, but then the Destroyer came. It ravaged Primus' body and there was little that he could do to stop the rampage. If Primus transformed to fight the Destroyer then his children would perish, but if he remained in planetmode the Dark One would consume his children anyway. Just before it was too late he realized a solution. The Destroyer was pure darkness, and he was pure light. Light always overcomes the darkness, so if he could somehow infuse the other with himself then his children might yet be saved. So, he very carefully began to make micro-transformations to shift the location of his spark chamber until it was exposed through the damaged portion of his frame. Primus opened his spark chamber and allowed his light to spill out into the Great Beast's hungry maw. It burned the Destroyer and forced it to retreat, lest it be completely overcome. The Dark One warped away to nurse its wounds, but Primus knew it would eventually return for revenge. So, the planetformer activated his mighty engines and fled to a lesser known portion of space. He finally came to rest in orbit around a pair of binary stars that would give light and energon to his people while he recovered. His healing would take millennia of centivorns and would require him to go into stasis. This trouble Primus greatly, for he would be unable to provide his people with protection during that time, nor would he be capable of conversing with the Prime. To cover this vulnerability he used the last of his strength to create a powerful datacrystal, into which he copied all of his considerable stores of knowledge and wisdom. Lastly, he poured as much of his spark's power as he could spare into the device against the possibility that the Destroyer might track him down before his recovery was complete. The device was given to the Prime with instructions that it was to be carried next to the chosen one's spark, and when the current Prime's reign came to an end the device would be presented to the people for the selection of the new leader. The crystal was sentient and equipped with recognition algorithms that enable it to find the next Prime spark. With his last gift given, Primus bid his children a safe functioning and shut down into healing stasis._

The Matrix paused for a klik to gather its thoughts for the rest of its narrative when it noticed that its bearer had fallen into recharge. It pulsed in amusement and remembered that its guardian had experienced a long orn. The Great Artifact felt badly for having kept its Prime awake for so long and resolved to ensure Optimus recharged undisturbed for the remainder of the dark-cycle.

_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_

Dissever was both a blessing and a curse. He was helpful, willing to do anything that was asked of him, and he had enough patience to deal with the monotonous bouts of pad-pushing. The problem was the mech's organizational skills. It was not that he was disorganized, on the contrary, Dissever was _over_-organized. The Urayan was obsessed with keeping everything in its place, perfectly sorted, and completely straight, right angles preferred. This was not a problem within Prowl's office since the Praxian had a penchant for neatness anyway, but once they left the office for a series of important meetings it became apparent how extensively the obsession could reach.

The first meeting was with the renovations team. It was part of the tradition to change the interior layout of the PrimePalace. Most of the stately old building would remain unchanged, but the personal chambers and private study would be given a new look to complement their Prime. Sentinel Prime's tastes had been rather eccentric, with every room bearing a background of dark blue and gold with contrasts light blue and white. He had preferred that scheme because it gave him the capacity to literally fade into the background and reappear at will. However, those shades clashed terribly with the new Prime's colors and therefore had to be altered.

It was the renovations team's responsibility to present several possible solutions which Prowl could in turn submit for approval or modification. Like many construction presentations the conference table was covered in haphazardly scattered blueprints, infopads, and other relevant documents. To the outsider, like Dissever, it appeared random, disorganized, but in reality the architects knew exactly where everything was. Prowl knew that designers of any kind favored this type of 'organization' and was able to ignore it as a peculiarity of the species. Dissever on the other servo, froze as soon as he entered the doorway. His entire frame twitched and shuddered for a klik before he got himself under control. Prowl noted his subordinate's reaction, but since the Urayan seemed to get over it quickly, he dismissed it in favor of more important matters.

The architects took the Praxian around the table explaining the different choices and Dissever followed behind him occasionally reaching out to straighten an arrangement of datapads. After a few moments to observe that the Urayan was not causing trouble with his 'fixing', Prowl focused more fully upon the designers who were now motioning to holographic renderings on the far wall.

One of the architects, a cranemech designated Grapple, turned to reach for a specific blueprint to illustrate the advantages to what was obviously his favorite design, only, it was not there. His muttering and increasingly frantic search soon drew the attention of the others and one of his associates finally put forth the query. "What's wrong Grapple?"

The goldenrod-plated mech looked up and, with a worried glance towards the _very_ attentive SIC, whispered. "The blueprint is gone! I know I placed it on this section of the table because I remember thinking I wanted it handy for the visual display."

The two other builders huffed at this unnecessary delay and began to help search. Both were sure it was only misplaced and that Grapple had simply overlooked it. As they looked however, it became obvious that not only was Grapple right, but _all_ of the datapads were out of order, with many missing entirely. The three architects had spent a full joor arranging their data before the meeting for maximum convenience and knew that blueprints did not just move of their own accord, so how did this happen? They begged their host for a few kliks to correctly rearrange their presentation, but Prowl was not listening.

Prowl was watching Dissever become more and more agitated with every pad the designers moved. The revelation came to him that this situation was most likely his subordinate's doing and he moved to address the issue before the builders went into a true panic or his potentiate into a tidying frenzy. "Dissever, how did you arrange the datapads?"

The architects looked up in horror at the round-about declaration that this had been done on purpose. The Urayan on the other servo, looked pleased and proud that his work was being acknowledged. "Well sir, I sorted all the datapads into three sections: blueprints and schematics; supply lists and financial quotes; and miscellaneous datawork. Then, within each section I broke them down by subcategory, and by date of creation within the subcategory. Lastly, I arranged each date set by size, smallest to largest."

The builders looked at the table to see that he was correct, which only made it more horrible since many components of the individual plans had been constructed on completely separate dates and each presentation possessed data across the 'categories'. The five viable plans and twelve possible variations were now inextricably mixed together, and it would take joors, if not orns, to sort back out. Grapple began to hyperventilate at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against his beautiful plans. His associates, recognizing the classic signs of a master architect going into conniptions, attempted to calm him down.

Grapple passed out.

_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_

After calling a medic for the indisposed builder, and assuring the renovations team that _would_ reschedule the meeting, Prowl left for his next appointment.

His next destination was the Armory for a retirement inspection. The elderly Weapons Master had decided he was tired of surviving Primes and chosen to retire. Kup was rumored to have been a sparkling during the end of the Quintessonian occupation and his fighting prowess, which was _not _dimmed at all by his age, was so reknowned that he had a standing offer at the WarAcademy to be a servo-to-servo combat instructor if he ever left the service of the Prime.

The old mech was waiting for them at the entrance chomping on his signature stogie. The doctors had prescribed him a series of mineral additives to maintain his frame integrity as he aged, unfortunately, they tasted like slag. And poorly melted slag at that. To fix that, the green-plated ruster had gotten _someone_, _somewhere_ to build him that stogie and aerosolize his additives in little cartridges that could be smoked in the cigar-like device.

Kup nodded at Prowl, and gave Dissever a once-over, then led them inside. It… was not what they were expecting. Kup usually ran a very tight ship, and whilst he was a lenient task-master most of the time, he expected all of his subordinates to tow the line when it came to orderliness and cleanliness. The current state of the Armory was neither. The gun lockers with their once neat rows of rifles and blasters were knocked askew and the guns themselves had fallen out in a deadly imitation of pick-up-sticks; the typically pristine stacks of bombs and missiles were strewn across the entire area; and the bins of grenades were knocked over, spilling their fragile contents everywhere.

Prowl stared at the mess, then glanced back at Dissever… the Urayan looked to be in shock. The SIC turned to the Weapons Master, perplexed that anyone was being permitted to see the Armory in such disarray and hoping that his trainee's cleaning frenzy could be staved off for a few more kliks.

Now, Kup was an adept reader of 'doorwing' and an even better reader of 'Prowl's Optic Ridge', so he answered the unspoken question without verbal prompting. "Well lads, this 'ere is a prime example o' what 'appens when ya inspections manager decides to quit. The li'le mech 'as been un'appy 'ere fer vorns but I could never get 'im transferred somewhere where 'e'd be 'appy."

The black and white doorwinger gazed out upon the mess with a deceptively passive countenance. "I see. What effect will this have on your intent to retire?"

"Well youngin', I s'pose it means I canna retire. Least not till I find a new inspections manager."

"Acknowledged. I will have the datawork held back from final processing until you do. Since it would be pointless to perform the review while the Armory is in this condition we shall postpone it until after the new manager is acquired. Doing so will give me the added benefit of analyzing the proficiency of the new mech."

Kup nodded his assent and pulled a long puff on his stogie. Prowl vented slightly in resignation, this was not turning out to be a productive orn, and turned to let Dissever know they were leaving.

The Urayan was gone.

The rather conspicuous sound of Kup's vents stalling and trying to restart alerted the SIC to the location of his errant potentiate. While Prowl and Kup had been distracted in conversation Dissever had apparently reached his breaking point and made a mad dash for the colossal mess to joyfully begin straightening it out.

As it turned out, the purple and blue mech was very… _very_… VERY good at organizing and cleaning weapons. He had already replaced two rifles back into the cases and they shone with the obvious care he had lavished upon them. Dissever was currently inspecting a third with a rag in hand to remove any debris.

Prowl's doorwings gave a tiny, almost imperceptible flutter of hope as he returned his attention to the green elder. "Master Kup, it has come to my attention that Dissever will not be a good fit for Administrative Assistant. However, as you can see, his ability to attend to detail is unparalleled. Would you be interested in interviewing him for your own empty slot?"

Kup grinned.

_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_

When Prowl left the Armory it was with a light spark. Dissever was joyfully ensconced in the midst of the chaos gleefully setting it to rights and Kup was free of the torture house that High Command had become. No one had ever dared mess with the Weapons Specialist directly, not even Sentinel Prime had been that bold, but neither did they leave him alone. There were many methods of cruelty that did not involve physicality after all. Therefore, Prowl was happy. Kup had been a sort of mentor to him and the old mech's relief was the Praxian's joy.

Regrettably though, this meant the SIC was out of a successor, again. His doorwings drooped minutely. Oh well, on to the next candidate.

_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_

It was orn's end again and Optimus found himself in the meditation chamber once more. He was becoming convinced that it would be simpler for him to move his berth in here for recharge given how often the Matrix pulled him in for a chat. Although, this dark-cycle's visitation was being initiated by Optimus, not the Artifact.

He had come out of recharge that light-cycle to the horrific realization that he had fallen into defrag on the ancient knowledge keeper and had immediately attempted to apologize. The Matrix had been silent. It had remained that way throughout the entire orn too. Now, the greatly terrified bearer was going to try to placate his symbiote one more time. Optimus quieted himself and focused in on the Primal Burden. He waited, hoping it would acknowledge him.

* * *

16DarkMidnight80: thank you for the encouragement. You are right about this being the hard road, it is very difficult to give them the backstory I envision and still keep them on the path to their true selves. I do not believe that anyone starts off with the personality they end with, every encounter of our life shapes who we are and molds how we see the world. In my own experience, the emotionless-ish nature that Prowl embodies is typically a response to some sort of trauma. Now, I know that some people have naturally stoic natures, but Prowl takes this to an extreme, why? And, leadership like Optimus possess can have natural roots, but his wisdom and peaceful center can only be obtained by experience. Thus, this story was born. Eventually they will become our beloved mechs but for now they remain virtual train wrecks. Thanks again, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Lair of the Twisted Muses: I had hoped to answer your question about the Priima in this chapter, but the muse said no. Therefore, the answer will be next chapter. I hope you continue reading to find out.


	5. Chapter 5: Optimus PRIME

In which the Matrix proves itself a chatterbox, Optimus starts to come into his own, and Prowl manages not to show up at all.

Ok, so I am seriously getting tired of FF deleting my formatting. First it took out all the underlining in the first part of chapter 4 and now it deleted all the underlining in this entire chapter. I had to rework it 5 times to get it to behave. Seriously FF, get your act together.

Warnings: brief, non-graphic mentionings of past: rape, prostitution, arranged marriages, torture, and torture of children. You have been warned.

Enjoy, rate, review, and point out mistakes. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 5:

Optimus came out of recharge to the decidedly uncomfortable reality of the floor. His very struts were aching thanks to the awkward position in which he had fallen. Other than stiff joints and a sore frame though, he felt quite nice. He had recharged deeply, just like… last dark-cycle. Oh no, he had done it again! Optimus was distraught; the Matrix would never forgive him and he would go down in history as the only Prime to ever annoy the Great Artifact to the point of having it ignore his very existence.

Just as the mech's panic attack was reaching epic proportions of imagined ignominy he felt something curl through his spark. It felt like the servo of his creator when he was comforting the sparkling Orion after a recharge terror.

_Be calm youngling. Tell me, what is it that has your spark in such turmoil?_

This was it, the Matrix was giving him an opportunity to apologize. He could not afford to mess it up. _*I am conscience-stricken Lord Matrix. I passed into a defragmentation cycle inadvertently during your narrative two orns previous. It is my most sincere entreaty that you would forgive this most penitent transgressor.*_

There was a very long pregnant pause as Optimus prayed his words would be accepted. Then the Matrix started laughing.

It was a deep, rolling laugh, the kind that starts in the midriff and shakes the whole frame. Optimus wilted, he was not going to be excused. The Artifact's mirth tapered off and it addressed him. _There is nothing to forgive, little one. I knew your energy levels were low and took great pleasure in guarding your recharge._

*_But, you ignored me all orn!*_ Optimus replied, now more confused than ever.

_Yes I did, though it was not my intent. It does not happen often, but there are times when even I must recharge. This past light-cycle just happened to be the end of one of my cycles._

_*Oh.*_ Now the young Prime felt ashamed for having jumped to such extreme conclusions. He considered that the Matrix must think so little of him after his panicked groveling.

The Artifact sensed his rising shame and refused to let it fester into permanence. _Now, now. None of that. I did not laugh because you apologized, I actually found it rather sweet. No, it was the archaic language and terrible accent in which you spoke. I have not heard that particular dialect of High Iaconian spoken in nearly six generations. Where did you learn it?_

Optimus mentally blushed. _*I used to collect bookfiles before… Before. Any that I could get my servos on. There was an old bookstore in midlevel Iacon whose owner passed away. His creations did not want the store and sold it. The new owners threw everything out, including all the bookfiles. A friend of mine saw them and gathered all the books up as a gift for my creationdate. Among the collected pads were many old texts written in ancient Iaconian. It was a rather enjoyable hobby to decode and learn the nearly dead languages.*_

_Impressive, young one. This gift could serve useful in eventual dealings with certain council members, at least, once I have corrected your inflections._

Before Optimus could ask which counselors, a knock at the door broke into their conversation. He arose and opened it, optics bright in concern, for no one ever disturbed him in his quarters unless it was an emergency. On the other side stood a trembling under-secretary. "L-Lord P-Prime, sir, th-the council requests y-your presence in their chamber at-at once."

Optimus acknowledged the summons and told the under-secretary that he would be along as soon as he had cleansed for the orn. The terrified little mech was only too happy to return to the council with the reply and scampered off.

The young Prime sighed and walked into his washrack. He knew why mecha were afraid of him, but he had still hoped that his obviously kinder persona would allow everymech else to see him differently. He sighed again, it was probably a false hope, but what more did he have?

_Peace youngling. Their sparks cannot be swayed in a decacycle. It will take many vorns for them to realize the truth, but rest assured it will not always be as this._

Optimus froze halfway through his lathering. While the Matrix's words were a great comfort, he had never heard it speak outside of meditation before, and honestly did know that it _was_ possible to commune with it without being in a focused trance. *_I can hear you. How?*_

The Artifact radiated smugness. _You can hear me because I spoke to you. The Priimas that came before you were not of my choosing and I, therefore, ignored them. I admit to a smidgen of stubbornness in that I would wait until they had performed lengthy meditation rituals before I deigned to acknowledge them. Sadly, the two of them functioned for so long that the knowledge of how I communicate was almost entirely comprised of their experiences. The true Primes that cam before them were either terminated early in their reigns or too busy to record an account._

*_Oh! So, I can speak to you at anytime?*_

_Yes. We are bonded, you and I, and although the bond is specific to myself, it most closely resembles a brother bond. You can converse with me and I to you; if I am removed from your frame before your demise you will always know where I am; and it will not prevent you from obtaining a romantic bond._

Optimus considered this revelation as he finished his shower and decided it was a nice thought to have a sort of older brother to help him along, although the Matrix was old enough to have been the grandtor of his grandtor's grandtor. He stepped under the dryers and asked one final question. *_If I speak to you during my functioning joors when I am out and about, will I be able to hide it like regular bonded mecha or will I look zoned out as when I am meditating?*_

The Matrix wrapped itself around the Iaconian's spark in the mental equivalent of a hug. _You will not appear entranced, but you will also not be able to hide it without _much_ practice._

Optimus sighed. *_Well, I suppose that eliminates the possibility of you finishing your story while I am in the council meeting, they are so long and boring.*_

_They do that on purpose youngling. This orn I want you to listen to their speeches and try to pick out the true messages behind their garrulousness._

Optimus slumped and tried to sound as pitiful as possible. *_But all they do is repeat themselves over and over again in as many ways as they can think of.*_

The Matrix thumped him on his mental forehead. _They do that on purpose. They make long speeches and repeat themselves so that you will stop listening. Then when it is time to ratify the new laws you will have no idea of what exactly is in those edicts. That is how they maintain their power; through unheard phrases and obscure references._

*_I can not simply _read_ the proposals before signing them?*_

_No my mechling, you cannot. The shortest proposals typically number over one hundred thousand pages and the norm is an average of half a million. They never present them singly either; always in sets of ten or more. They purposely inundate you to prevent the possibility of a proper reading. For if you were to discover the self-serving clauses you would surely not authorize the laws._

The Great Artifact sighed and released his ages old frustration. It was not right to vent it on the young Prime regardless of how much he needed to learn. _The only way to stop the corruption before it starts is to parse the verbal statements and rebut them before they get placed on the datapads._

The Matrix could feel a swell of worry flow from its bearer's spark and waited patiently. It was important for the future that Optimus come to trust the wisdom-keeper and that trust would begin when Optimus was comfortable speaking his meta to the Matrix. *_Um, I am not very good at coming up with counter-arguments on the fly.*_

_Ah, but that what you have a Matrix for, to provide you with those uncontestable bits of wisdom that the council will not be able to refute, and should you also convey those rebuttals in that delightfully archaic speech it will be that much more effective._

Optimus relaxed. *_You will stay with me?*_

_Of course. Now however, you need to hurry lest the councilors send another frightened secretary to leak at your door._

Optimus snickered and quickly passed a polishing cloth over his plating, then left his quarters. The entire orn he would have his confidence bolstered by gentle pulses of safety/trust/protection from his internal guardian.

_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_

Optimus settled onto his berth feeling very satisfied. The orn had been productive, and a complete surprise to the unprepared senators and councilors. They were used to and expecting the meek, unsure Prime of the past few decacycles, not the quiet thinker whose few words held an iron will that made the hearer pause to reconsider themselves.

This too surprised Optimus as he had known what form his new personality would take. The Matrix had been confused and asked the young Iaconian to explain. Optimus had obliged. "Before I was named Prime, before you selected me, I was rebuilt. I had suffered spark-threatening injuries from Decepticon raiders and Alpha Trion saved my functioning by almost completely replacing my frame. One of the primary side-effects of such a procedure however, is radical adaptation of character. Alpha told me that while I would always be myself, I would find that certain previous behaviors and mannerisms would suddenly feel wrong or uncomfortable. This is the reason I have been so unsure for my entire tenure so far. I have quite literally been trying to figure out exactly who I am."

The Matrix expressed thankfulness that Optimus had survived, stating that the statistics of survival from such severe surgery was generally less than five percent.

After that the two of them had created a game of the council meeting. Optimus would experiment with stares of stoicism and piercing gazes to see which were the most effective of which speaker. The goal was to rile them up or unsettle them enough for them to ask him if he wanted to say something. Then it was the Matrix's turn. The artifact would delve through its eons of stored knowledge for the perfect statements to derail whatever foolishness was currently being suggested. It would often supplement the confutations with excerpts from the lawtexts, for it turned out that Guardian Prime, Nova's predecessor, had been a lawyer of great renown and had imparted the entirety of his collective knowledge to the Matrix before his passing.

Optimus' newly revealed intimate understanding of the laws and their execution had caused many a senator to become speechless in shock. When they could not come up with a plausible rejoinder they were forced to relinquish the floor and thus also have their proposal dismissed.

Yes, Optimus was very satisfied with his orn. Not that the Matrix allowed it stay that way after its bearer had settled for the evening. _Do not be cocky my Primeling. You caught them off guard this orn, but it shall not happen again. Now they will be expecting it and you will have to change tactics._

*_I know, but I can consider that problem later, right now I want to bask in my victory. I do not get them that often.*_ came the petulant reply.

The Matrix chuckled indulgently. _Very well then. Bask away._

Optimus did. He placed his servos behind his helm and allowed a large smirk to overtake his hidden lips. He stayed that way for a few kliks until he was sure he had soaked up as much of the confidence boosting sensation as he could. Then his meta turned to a topic that had been knowing at him for two orns. *_So, you never finished telling me about the Priima.*_

_You are right, I did not. Would you like to hear it now?_

_*Yes please.*_ Optimus curled up on his side and listened attentively.

_Alright then. The Prime I was gifted to was Primon and the first Prime I ever chose was Prima, Primon's brother. For generations after there was prosperity. The solar energy that Duosteris provided was more than even Primus' converters could use and the People enjoyed an abundance. It was the true Golden Age. The People were happy and began to cultivate vast swathes of Primus' body. Just as they reached the pinnacle of their first accomplishments, the Quintessons invaded._

_The Peoples' functionings had always been peaceful and they had no concept of war or strife. Weapons were foreign to the People, and this made them easy pickings for the ruthless five-faced blackmarketeers. They destroyed everything. Leveled every fledgling city, every developing town. They rounded up the everyone and took hold of their metas with slave programming. The five-faced ones slaughtered the Prime publicly and hid my shell away to discourage rebellion._

_Then the true horrors began. Bonding was outlawed and all offenders were executed upon discovery. This prevented natural sparking and allowed for population control. The Quintessons implanted giant spark-extractors into Primus' core to create new mecha for slaving contracts the universe over. These devices, collectively called Vector Sigma, drained Primus and prevented his reawakening. For he was trying to wake up. He had sensed the evil that had befallen his children and desired to save them. He actually managed to overcome the Sigma devices by his will alone, but the Quintessons found him out. Then they ensured it would never happen again. They entered his processor and overrode his boot-up sequence, then inserted a code to induce permanent stasis. The People were the slaves of the universe and there was no one to rescue them._

_Some of them were modified to accept organic interface equipment and sold as pleasuremecha. Many more were sold as test drones to the more warlike planets and were tortured to deactivation for the advancement of their owners' weaponry. This was not the worst atrocity committed against the People though. The worst was the unframed sparks marketed as clean power sources to science-based planets and newly framed protoform to the same for use in experimentation. When the Quintessons realized that their robot-servant venture was a success, they got greedy._

_They began to tamper with spark-coding to create new lines to offer in previously untapped markets. This was the method by which femmes and host-mecha came into being. Neither are first creations of Primus, though he has since blessed them as his own. Femmes were sold as wet nurses and more aesthetically pleasing pleasuremecha; hostmecha as sparked furniture and sentient entertainment devices. The new lines were a roaring success, however, no amount of tweaking or programming could get Vector Sigma to produce them. Thus began the Breeding Programs. They forcebonded the new mecha and forced them to rape one another to produce as many sparklings as possible. The mecha that bred true were kept functioning while the breeders that produced only throwbacks were yielded the unintended mercy of termination. It was through this that the first part of the Quintessons' downfall was brought about. When a nonbreedable pair was terminated, their frames were cast into the pits for smelting. One half of such a pair survived. The shot to terminate *his spark was aimed too high and the femme was only injured. *He was carrying at the time and *his determination to remain functioning for its sake allowed him to survive *his unwanted bondmate's deactivation. *He feigned termination until *he was dropped into the pits, then escaped._

_The second part of the Quintessons' downfall was their decision to produce warframes. It was the last untargeted venue, and the five-faced slavers craved more credits. They created tankformers, gunformers, and cannonformers from the coding of heavy frame mecha. They implanted programming for external and internal weaponry into standard mecha to allow them to carry the unnatural additions. They even twisted the coding of the shuttleformers to created weaponized orbital platforms._

_Then their first mistake came to fruition. The creation of the injured femme led an uprising against the Quintessons and broke the hold of the slave coding with his invention, the Coda Remote. The young mech, then known as A3, drove the interlopers away from the planet and rescued my shell._

_The Quintessons had been beaten so badly that they would not be capable of retaliation for many millions of vorns, and in their rage at being bested by an 'inferior' race they left one last enduring alteration. They turned on Primus' engines and inserted a virus that would deter any attempts to turn them off. Now, the People had been enslaved so long that knowledge of Primus and his status as a planetformer had been mostly lost. The few who did remember him thought of him as a god who lived in their planet's core. Therefore it never occurred to any of them that the planet could be returned to stable orbit by releasing his meta from stasis._

_And again, because of their lack of knowledge, they had no name for their planet and collectively chose to call it Cybertron. The eons that followed were a time of rediscovery. They had to re-educate themselves on everything from energon refinement to bonding, and it was fortunate that Primus' engines had been set on slow, for their relearning of energon processing was fraught with error. When they finally left the system to which Duosteris belonged the Cybertronians experienced their first Dark Age. Fortunately, they were intimate with the concept of rationing thanks to their time under the Quintessons, but that did not mean it was not difficult._

_It became the normal pattern as Cybertron wandered for there to be good eras of plenty when near a star and dark ages when in-between. It was not until the second such dark age that a Prime spark re-entered the populace, which meant I needed an interim carrier. Alpha Trion volunteered to keep me safe until a true leader could be found and I was not adverse to giving my trust to the renamed A3._

_The first Prime after the occupation was Vector Prime. He had an imposing aura, but was truly gentle in manner. He was not prone to rash decisions and was most willing to listen to my advice. He led the Cybertronians wisely for many millennia. When he passed on to the Well I looked diligently for his successor, for I had assumed that Vector's appearance meant that the lineage would return to its previous status of one Prime spark for every generation. I was in error. The Quintessons had destroyed too many sparklines and the new lineage rounded out to a single Prime spark for about every five generations. The Cybertronians could not go so long without a leader, so it was decided that imterims would be chosen to fill the gap. The council of that time voted to give the standby a title that would indicate their supremacy over the planet yet also denote that they were not Primes and therefore temporary until the genuine leader appeared. The designation chosen was "Priima", in honor of my second bearer._

With the Matrix's story completed it fell silent to await its Prime's response. It was a while in coming.

Optimus was nearly reeling mentally from the deluge of historical information and it took him a moment to sort it all out into the appropriate knowledge files. When he finished he returned his attention to his symbiote. *_So, Sentinel was a Priima?*_

_Yes, as was Nova before hime._

This left Optimus confused. *_But, if you did not choose them as your temporary bearers, how did they acquire you?*_

_Ah, now there is a bit of interesting subterfuge. After Guardian Prime's deactivation the council got it into their helms to seize the powerseat. When I gave the indication that there was no Prime spark to replace Guardian they appointed Nova as my Priima. They intended to use him as a puppet, but history can well attest to how _that_ turned out._

_*Oh.*_ Suddenly, things were making a lot more sense. It had always bothered Optimus that the supposedly ethically driven and wisdom led Primes were sadistic selfservers prone to bouts of tyranny and madness. However, if these individuals were not Primes, then Optimus could conjecture that their actions were caused by something else. *_Wisdom-keeper, when the Priimas were selected for you, were they told of what they were or were they led to believe that they were Primes?*_

The Matrix thought for a moment. _The council wanted the maximum control possible and they told them they that Priima meant Prime-in-Training and that they would be true Primes when the council was sure they would be able to properly fulfil their roles. This ensured that the council would have free rein to overrule the false-Primes._

Optimus weighed his next statement carefully. *_Is it possible that this deception contributed to their eventual madness.*_

_How so?_

_*Well, if they thought they were Primes then they would also have expected to wield the power of one, including mastery over the Matrix of Leadership and the ability to activate various Prime-locked artifacts. When it became apparent to them that they had neither, might it have caused them to lash out and eventually fall to darkness?*_

The Artifact whirred in the Prime's chest, its thoughts causing an audible noise, and light began to seep from its shell. It grew warm as the light increased, but then all its activity ceased. _The answers you seek cannot be rendered quickly. Your suggestions present new possibilities to previous conclusions and the ramifications… I must take time to ponder this. It will most likely be several orns before I can offer any satisfactory answers._

*_Alright,*_ Optimus hesitated for a klik, then asked, *_I do have more questions. Do you have time for them this dark-cycle?*_

_Sadly youngling, neither of us do. You have given me much to consider, and furthermore, it has grown late. You are set to begin healing Prowl tomorrow and will need all your wits about you._ The Matrix gave him a gentle caress. _Go to recharge now and we will speak again later._

The young Prime assented and curled up for a peaceful defrag. The length of his orn overtook him and he was out as soon as he shuttered his optics.

* * *

Lair of the Twisted Muses: So, hopefully this answers the questions about the Priima. Was it worth the wait?

SomeoneI'mSure: First, I love your anon name, so funny. Second, I am glad that you like my Matrix. I always hated how impersonal the cartoons always made it. I mean come on, the device that holds all the wisdom of the entire Cybertronian race and it can just be manipulated and used by anyone? Uh, irresponsible much? So, yeah, I envisioned it with a personality.

SunnySidesofBlue: thanks! I feel sorry for Prowl too, but don't worry, things will get better for him.


End file.
